


A Really Good Morning

by notenoughtogivebread



Series: Klaine Advent 2015 [19]
Category: Glee
Genre: Future Fic, Growing Old Together, M/M, Physical Disability, Sex, stroke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 16:23:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12088785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notenoughtogivebread/pseuds/notenoughtogivebread
Summary: Written for Klaine Advent 2015 prompt: yesterday. It's the morning of their youngest child's wedding. Warning for old people sex. Also Kurt is recovering from a stroke. But they ARE having a really good morning.





	A Really Good Morning

The alarm sounded, like it had on thousands of mornings, a chiming from Blaine’s phone. And like most mornings, he woke before Kurt; he brushed his hand through the velvety buzzcut on his husband’s head, waking him. 

Kurt blinked and yawned, grimaced at his dry mouth, and Blaine reached past him to the water on the bedside cooling site. He held the glass to the other’s mouth. Kurt lifted a hand to rest on Blaine’s wrist and tapped when he had his fill, then croaked, “Thanks. What time is it?” 

“Oh, it’s just past 8. I’m sure Carl’s awake, if you want to call him. I’m going to see if anyone else is awake,” he said, crawling out of bed on his side. 

“No, wait. He’ll want to talk to you, too,” Kurt said as Blaine took his bathrobe off the bathroom hook. He sat at the foot of the bed tightening his belt as their youngest son’s image appeared. 

“Good morning, Dad, Papa! Dad, are you even out of bed yet? I think you guys are more excited for this wedding than I am,” Carl teased, his dark eyes twinkling. 

“Just wanted to check in with you. Make sure your tux is ready,” Kurt started. 

“In case, like, your puppy ate it since last night,” Blaine interjected with a wink. Kurt kicked at him from under the covers. 

Carl stepped back from his vidscreen camera to show off his trousers. “Well, it’s not like you’re Angela. It won’t be bad luck for you to see.” 

Kurt sat up, humming his approval. “Can we see the jacket?” 

“Actually, Dad, I was waiting for your call. The photog will be here soon, and, you KNOW I can’t chance a photo shoot without getting approval from my good luck charm.” 

Blaine squeezed Kurt’s leg, and said, “And that’s my cue to go get breakfast ready and give you two some time alone.” 

Carl frowned. “No breakfast yet? Are you guys gonna be ready when the photographer gets THERE?” he asked, pointedly looking at Kurt’s pajama top and Blaine’s bed-mussed tangle of gray curls. 

“Relax. _We_ have hours yet. We’re not the stars of the show, after all,” Blane said, striding toward the door. 

“No eggs,” Kurt called out. “Just fruit and yogurt.” 

* * *

As the door closed behind his husband, Kurt turned his attention to the young man’s image. It seemed like only yesterday they were bringing Carl home, and here he stood, turning so Kurt could check the fit of the trousers and the evenness of the trimmed curls at the back of his head. He fell silent, grateful that he was here to see this day. Carl stopped his chatter and his posing. “Dad? You with me?” 

“Sorry. I was just remembering a laughing baby boy, and I was surprised to see a young groom.” 

“There’s a lot of that going around. Papa was a weepy mess last night, reminiscing.” 

“The way he tells it, there were two men weeping. You sure you’re all right?” 

“That was just the wine talking, Dad. And you know, it’s not as though I’ve been ambushed in a barn with the perfect wedding suits acting as a bribe to get me to the altar.” 

“In our defense, they WERE very fashionable suits.” 

“I’m okay. Angela and I—we’re good. We’ve been planning this for months. Besides, I’ve had 50 years of you guys to show me how marriage works.” 

Kurt relaxed back into his pillows. “Watch it, bud. You haven’t been here for all 50. We’re not THAT old.” 

Carl sat down, carefully hitching his pants leg so they wouldn’t crease. “How are you feeling? Are you up to this?” 

Kurt waved his left hand about. “Oh, you know me. I’ll still be the best-dressed man at the wedding.” 

“Dad…” 

“Don’t you worry about me. That’s your Papa’s job.” 

Carl’s dark eyes were wet. “I’m so glad you’re here with us. I love you, Dad.” 

“You know I wouldn’t miss this chance. Now go, shine in your photos. We’ll see you at 11?” Kurt said, then ended the vid and lay back staring up at the ceiling, listening for the sound of his Blaine making his way back to the room. He could hear laughter and teasing; as Blaine approached the doorway, he called for their grandson Kurt to take the corgis to the kitchen. Kurt smiled at the image, and struggled to sit up, to look good for his boy. 

* * *

Blaine’s smile was bright as he came back through the door, a hovertray behind him with a carafe of coffee, two berry salads with dollops of vanilla yogurt, and one piece of sinfully rich butter cake with two forks. 

“Mary Grace insisted that we treat ourselves,” he proclaimed, going to pull a chair next to the bed. He stopped at Kurt’s frown. 

Kurt patted the bed next to him. “I’m not an invalid, Blaine. We can BOTH eat off the tray.” 

Blaine scrunched up his nose, but put the chair back. He poured a cup of coffee into Kurt’s no-tip mug, and asked, “Which side?” 

“Let’s start with the right. I can handle a spoon with my left well enough.” 

He poured his own cup and placed it on the tray, leaving the carafe on the bedside table, and scrambled over his husband’s legs to tuck in next to him. “Showoff,” Kurt smirked at him. 

Blaine made himself comfortable, piling up the pillows behind both Kurt and him (and finding the lube Kurt had stashed there hopefully the night before) before setting to. He did his best not to hover, to keep his attention on his own breakfast and not comment on Kurt’s shaky hold on the coffee mug, or his need to steady it with his left hand. Instead, after Kurt took a long draft of the hot, fragrant brew, he cut into the drippy butter cake and held the fork to Kurt’s mouth. “Sweets for my sweet.” 

“Oh my God, you are so—God, that’s good. Where did Gracie _find_ this?” 

“Ready to abandon your life of virtuous fruit salad to roll around in pastries with me?” 

“No. And neither are _you._ We’re both going to indulge ourselves quite enough today. Just because we’re—well, falling apart—doesn’t mean we should _completely_ give up.” 

“Hey. I think we look pretty great for 70.” 

“Speak for yourself,” Kurt pouted. He carefully placed his coffee cup down and reached out to stroke the curls back along Blaine’s ear, stealing a small kiss. “Besides, your fanbase definitely agrees with me.” 

You’re not even going to begin to hint that I have better hair than you. Every day, I look more like Einstein.” 

Kurt just hummed at him, pushing the breakfast tray away. “We’ll work on making it presentable enough for the paparazzi today. I’ll help you in the shower—later,” he murmured, his thumb edging down to play at the pulse point on Blaine’s neck. 

“Later, hmmm? Does that offer include using that shower chair for my favorite morning tradition?” Blaine asked hopefully. 

Kurt arched his brow. “I’d need more than a delicious breakfast as a bribe for that.” 

Blaine laughed. “Let’s consider it part of your physical therapy—strengthening your facial muscles.” He pecked Kurt’s cheek, then pulled the comforter down until Kurt’s legs were exposed. He mouthed down Kurt’s chest and belly and then over the cloth of his sleep shorts; the long fingers of Kurt’s hand carded through his hair, encouraging him. He pulled down the shorts and carefully lifted Kurt’s legs out of them, kissing first the left shin and then the right, his husband’s gaze heavy on him. Then he took Kurt’s still soft, chubby little cock into his mouth, playing with it, rolling it around, teasing with his tongue. Slowly it showed signs of interest, filling and growing. Kurt’s little sighs of pleasure were the only sound in the room. 

Blaine sat up, smoothing his hands up Kurt’s chest, leaning up to kiss him again, then taking Kurt’s left hand in his right and leaving them entwined over his husband’s heart. Still in silence, he returned to his task, kneading Kurt’s right thigh with his left hand as he suckled at the slowly swelling cock, then resting his head on Kurt’s belly and watching the cock slick and slide through his hand. 

“Hey.” Kurt’s voice pulled him out of his trance. He looked up to where Kurt was nuzzling at their joined hands, swallowing down his murmurs of pleasure. “I want you up here, and I want you naked.” 

“Yeah?” Blaine said, and hurried to comply, pulling out of his pajamas, kicking them away vigorously. 

“And then—can you—can you help me turn onto my left side?” 

He shimmied up the bed and wound his arm around Kurt’s shoulders, pulling him close, taking care with his heavy right leg. He popped open the lube and squeezed a dollop into Kurt's waiting hand. Kurt reached between them, biting his lip in concentration as he moved to grip both of their cocks in his frail hand. “You too,” he whispered, leaning up to pull Blaine into a deep kiss. 

Blaine complied, covering Kurt’s hand with his own, squeezing and stroking, teasing them both to full hardness. He drifted his hand down then to roll Kurt’s balls; Kurt swiped his thumb under Blaine’s foreskin and teased at the sensitive skin there, pulling a groan from deep within Blaine. 

“You can keep doing that—oh, for the rest of the day,” he crooned as Kurt’s long thin fingers circled and played in a counterpoint to his own stroking. 

“This _does_ beat squeezing a rubber ball for motivation, anyway,” Kurt answered. 

Blaine smiled up at him. “And the progress reports are so much more fun,” he quipped. 

He covered Kurt’s hand again, moving fast now. He watched Kurt closely, watched the pleasure overtake him, the flush on his lips and cheeks as he came on a deep sigh, his eyes falling closed. Blaine’s own cock sputtered a bit but he ignored it, his attention remaining on his husband. He murmured, “Still so fascinatingly beautiful when you come.” 

Kurt nuzzled contentedly, and said, “And you’re delicious.” 

“Well, _you_ are. Want a taste?” Blaine asked, lifting his sticky hand up between them. 

“Ugh. Look up above here—there’s a warmed washcloth in the box there.” 

“ALWAYS prepared,” Blaine teased, then gently cleaned them both up. “Shower?” 

“You take such good care of me. It’s so much work.” 

“Hey, now. It seems to me it’s YOU doing all the work…and it’s work that’s paying off. You’re getting better—your grip, your balance—everyday. And besides, I owe you. Every stinking time we had a show in the Hirschfeld in the wintertime I caught a cold.” 

“Aah. Your famous Hirschfeld allergy,” Kurt said fondly. 

“God, remember our first winter with Carl? He was teething, the pipes burst at the twins’ school, and I was home sick—all in the same week. And you had a show to run—with a particularly demanding leading lady. But you just _handled_ it all, Kurt.” 

“Well, Mary Grace certainly helped. Mostly by calling her Meemaw in Ohio.” 

“The point is—“ 

“We take turns. I know.” 

They slowly disentangled from the bed, Kurt resting on the bedside while Blaine circled around with his bathrobe. Then he put his hand in Blaine’s and let himself be pulled to his feet. As Blaine led the way, still gripping onto Kurt’s hand, Kurt laughed ruefully. “Seems like only yesterday, the first time you took me by the hand.” 

Blaine tucked Kurt’s hand in his arm, speaking with heavy earnestness. “I’m so glad I got to share all those yesterdays with you—and the rest of my tomorrows.” 

Kurt laughed out loud at that, resting his head on Blaine’s shoulder as they made their way to the bathroom. “Save some of that excellent cheese for the speeches tonight. Now let’s go make proper use of that shower chair.” 


End file.
